Love is blind
by Charlight
Summary: Francis has a great appreciation for beauty. Sadly, after a firework accident, he turns blind. He can no longer see the beauty of the world and sinks deeper into depression every day. However, one lucky meeting with a certain British young man may change his vision on the world. Warning: Contains boyxboy! Rated T for minor suggestive adult themes, may change into M later.
1. Prologue

Author's notes:  
Hello there! This is my very first fanfiction so I would appreciate any kind of feedback to help me improve my writing.  
This story will have several chapters about Blind!FrancexEngland/Britain. All characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
_

**Prologue: A lonely year**

It was New Year's Eve. Children were playing in the streets with fireworks, Teenagers were testing their illegal fireworks and adults were getting drunk in the nearest bar. Not me. I was sitting on my porch, looking up at the colourful fireworks in the sky. The sound of fireworks filled the air, accompanied by children's cheers. It was beautiful. In my mind I was already saving the picture of the sky, which I wanted to paint the next day. I was thinking of good intentions for next year. Most of all I was thinking about l'amour. Which pretty lady would be mine tonight? Ah yes, Paris was truly wonderful on New Year's Eve. Great wine, beautiful fireworks and pretty women.

Drowned in my train of thoughts I forgot all about the painting I wanted to make. I opened my eyes and stared at the sky when suddenly a high pitched noise came closer and closer, followed by screams of fear. Something came rushing towards me. Before I could see what was happening I heard an explosion and everything went black.

That was exactly one year ago. I placed my hands on the cold, stone railing of the balcony and looked up at the sky. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the fireworks. It was a painful sound which reminded me of the accident. But it was also very soothing, because it brought up memories of the happiness and the beautiful sky that night.

It was a clear sound; I could almost see what the fireworks looked like. However, when I opened my eyes, there was nothing there. Black was all I saw. Black was all I had seen this past year.

My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I am a simple man, living in the heart of Paris. Where the shopping streets are always lit up, the sunsets are astonishing and the women are pretty. Sadly, I can't see any of those things. Ever since I turned blind I had to stop enjoying the things I loved the most.

I was fired as the top-chef of a five star restaurant, because I couldn't see what I was feeding our guests. I couldn't finish any of my paintings, because I couldn't see if the paintings were as beautiful as the image I had in my head. Most of all I gave up on love. I could no longer see the beauty of the world nor do the things I loved. What was I supposed to do with my life?

I thought everything was going to be alright once the doctors brought me the news of a possible surgery that would return my sight. _Wrong_. There was simply not enough money to pay for it, and besides that the chance of success was a small 20%.

I felt pathetic. As I sunk deeper and deeper into depression I even attempted suicide several times. This turned out to be surprisingly difficult, since I couldn't exactly see where to cut or which pills to take. I always ended up in the hospital, very much alive.

This all changed when I met this one special person. Arthur Kirkland. Let me tell my story from the beginning.


	2. Chapter 1: How we met

**Chapter 1: How we met**

Tick...tick...tick...tick...

With my cane in hand I made my way through the city, back to my apartment. Here to the right, then second street left. Or was it the third left? Did I even have to go right in this street? I sighed in frustration. This was the 5th time I got lost in my own city. I should have been paying attention instead of dancing through my thoughts. I folded up my cane and leaned against the nearest wall, trying to re-live the route I took. Did I take the wrong right? I slid my fingers down the wall behind me, feeling its texture. This was definitely not the right building.

Deep in my thoughts I failed to notice the young man trying to get my attention.  
"Excuse me, sir?"  
I was shaken out of my thoughts by a voice with a thick British accent.

"Ah, desolée, how can I help?"

I was pretty sure I couldn't help the foreign man, but it couldn't hurt to try, right? I turned my head in the direction of the young man's voice, not completely sure if I was looking him in the eye or if I was awkwardly staring at his chest. He didn't comment on it, so I let the thought slip.

"Could you tell me where I can find the-" I cut him off.

"Excusez moi, but I can't help you there. You see, I'm actually lost, too."

The man sounded surprised as he apologised. "Oh, I am sorry. I figured you would be from around here. Guess I was wrong."

I chuckled and faced front, at the probably many cars out on the street. "Non, tu est vrai. I actually live nearby. I just can't find the way home." I opened up my cane again and stood up straight.

The young English man gasped. "You are..." He stopped mid-sentence as if it was a curse word.

"You can say it; blind. It's no news."

"I'm terribly sorry." He replied. After a minute or two I wasn't sure if he was still there. The streets were too noisy to be able to hear someone walk away.

"You said you were lost? Maybe I can help?" Ah, he had been standing in front of me all this time. That must've been awkward.

I told him the name of the street where I lived. I heard nothing but a small click of a tongue for a moment.

"Doesn't sound familiar?" I stated more than asking.

"Not in the slightest, I'm afraid, but you said it was nearby? I could help by, well, being your eyes, if it helps?" He must've been smiling; something in his voice gave it away.

I tried imagining what his face could be like. All I knew of this person was that they were British, and, well, male, probably.

But none of that mattered at that moment. I gladly accepted this man's help, since most people pretended to be as deaf as I was blind and walk on by.

"You're a very kind man. Do you, by any chance, see the…?" I named another street which was nearby my apartment.

It took the man a moment to find it through all the ruckus out on the always busy streets of Paris, but after a while he spoke to me.

"Yes, it is over there." He must have been pointing somewhere, because he fell silent, expecting me to know what he meant.

"Oh!" The man suddenly seemed to remember my blindness. "I am so sorry! I meant it was uh, across the street and to the left."

I thanked him and tried to imagine where we were standing. If I was right my apartment was one block away from that street. Did I really take the wrong right all along? Luckily I was at least nearby my apartment. With my cane in hand, tapping from left to right, I walked alongside the man who was ranting away in a British accent, telling me to watch where I was going.

Little did he know that I've walked these streets a million times with my sight still intact. I knew this city by heart, but I tended to get lost in my thoughts and I'd often end up lost anyway. With more scolding from the same British man about my way of crossing the street, we arrived at the other side of the street. I asked him a few more questions about which street was where until I was orientated again.

"Merci beaucoup, I know the way from here." I started making my way to my apartment before he could say anything else. However, the footsteps I heard were not my own.

"Why are you still following me?" I asked the man who was still walking behind me.

"I just want to make sure you arrive home safely, that is all." Came his response.

"Don't get me wrong, I highly appreciate your help, but I can find my apartment on my own now. Besides, didn't you have somewhere to be?" All the while the Brit was following me.

I decided to let him escort me to my apartment in silence. However, when we arrived at my apartment, after climbing the steps to the second floor, he was still there. I gave up on trying to send him away since he didn't sound like someone dangerous. I decided to invite him in as a Thank you. I got my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door, holding it open for the British young man.

"Would you like to come in for coffee or tea?"

There was a moment of silence before he replied, "Yes, thank you." He sounded like he was smiling once more.

I guess that wherever he had to be wasn't that important after all, for he stayed at my place quite a while.


	3. Chapter 2: When can I see you again?

**Chapter 2: When can I see you again?**

_"__When can I see you again?" _  
I remember how he laughed at my question. _Of course I couldn't see him_, I thought to myself as I was strolling down the street with my cane in hand. I was on my way to my favourite café for a coffee and some lunch.  
My mind was slowly wandering off again, even though I knew very well that I should've been paying attention. I just couldn't help thinking back on that day: The day I met that kind British man, Arthur, wasn't it? Secretly I was hoping to get lost, wishing that I'd stumble upon him once more. However, I didn't. I knew better than that.  
I arrived at the café, ordered my coffee and a croissant and sat down at my favourite spot after checking if it wasn't already taken. Finally I allowed myself to drift off in my thoughts and think back on a few days before.

_"__Please, take a seat. Coffee or tea?" I asked the stranger as I hung up my coat, put away my cane and made my way to the kitchen. Luckily I didn't need my cane in my own home._

_"__Tea, please." He answered me in his thick British accent. I put the kettle on the stove before walking to the living room, making sure I sat down on an empty seat instead of the man's lap. I decided to fill the time we had to wait for the water to boil with a small talk._

_"__So, what brings you to France? I assume you're not from around here."_

_"__Yes, well, just… business." _

_He probably wouldn't appreciate me asking any further, considering that tone._

_"__Ah, I see." _

_The silence that followed was slightly awkward. What _do_ you talk about with an utter stranger that you invited into your house without thinking about it?_

_I had always been spontaneous like that, inviting over random people I plucked from the streets. Never had I had a problem in keeping the conversation going, but somehow, the incident changed even that part of me._

_"__How long have you been living here?" The British man asked me in an attempt to keep the conversation going. _

_"__Since I was 18. I moved here to attend a culinary arts school." I told him rather proudly.  
"Oh, so you are—" He couldn't finish his sentence because the kettle started boiling and made a whistling sound. I remember getting that kettle when I first turned blind and was too stubborn to accept full help in the house holding. Now I only had people help me in the late afternoons, they would come by for a few hours, cleaning my house and making small talk._

_I stood up to make my way to the kitchen while apologising to the British man for the annoying sound that interrupted him. I took the kettle of the stove and then fumbled for the third cabinet, opened it and searched for the small box filled with all different kinds of tea._

_"__What kind of tea would you like?" I asked the man from the kitchen._

_He probably chose the most common kind of tea because he didn't want to be a bother. "Earl Grey is fine, if you have any." _

_I took a random bag of tea and smelled it before putting it back. Not Earl Grey. I tried again twice before I found the right one. I fumbled for the first cabinet and got out two cups and saucers, carefully filled the cups with the hot water and put two teabags on the saucers. One was Earl Grey, the other one was whatever I was going to drink. It was always a surprise, for I didn't really dislike any kind of tea. I carried them over to the table, gently putting them down._

_"__Sugar or milk?" It was silent for a moment. "Would you like sugar or milk?" I repeated._

_"__Oh! Eh, no thank you." I chuckled. He probably shook his head, forgetting my blindness once again. I decided not to ask though; it would only make things more awkward._

_The British man, whose name was still unknown, continued our past conversation. "So, you are a chef?"_

_"__I _was_ a chef. Not anymore." I tried my best not to stop smiling, but I couldn't really help it. I just missed cooking so much. Just like painting. Just like all the things I used to do. _No, don't go there, _I thought to myself._

_The stranger must've noticed this for he didn't ask anymore. I could hear him sip his tea and I remembered mine. I put the teabag in the water and listened to the other man sipping his tea, realising that after inviting him into my home I still didn't know his name. _

_"__What's your name anyway? My name is Francis. Francis Bonnefoy."_

_"__Arthur Kirkland, nice to meet you." Another silence followed. Was he trying to shake hands?_

_"__Of course," I heard Arthur say before I felt him grab my hand and shake it. "Sorry about that. I won't forget after this, I promise."_

_I laughed once more. This guy has me laughing more in one day than I did the past year._

_We drank our tea and talked a little more. I completely lost track of time, not realising we had been talking for nearly two hours._

_"__I should go, it's getting late." I heard him stand up and I did the same. I made my way to the front door, opening it for him. I heard some rustling; he was probably putting on his coat and picking up his bag from wherever he left it. _

_"__Thanks for helping me get home, I enjoyed your company." I thanked him._

_"__You are very welcome." He answered me._

_"__When can I see you again?" I asked Arthur, at first not understanding what was so funny, for he was laughing at me._

_"__Well, I'll be around." And with that, he left._

I sighed as I thought back, it seemed so long ago. Time seems to pass much slower when you can't look at the clock. Then I heard someone clear their throat at the opposite side of the table. I was sure I checked if there was no one there.

"Excusez moi, was this your spot?"

"No, but I am trying to get your attention." Speak of the devil, that voice was familiar.

"Arthur?" He chuckled, making me assume I was right.

I heard the shuffling of a chair, he must've sat down.

"Did you miss me already?" I asked him teasingly.

"Oh please," he told me, "I merely sat down here because the café is full."

Well, that was a disappointment. Or it would've been, if it was true. I could barely hear anyone else talking and the sound of silverware clinking against plates was also very much absent. He was teasing me, interesting. Well, two could play that game.

"Good thing you did, I had almost forgotten about you." I grinned ever so slightly.

I bet he gave me a nasty glare. I could hear him taking a bite of something and it made me wonder what he ordered.

"What did you get?"

"What does it look like?" He asked me in a sarcastic manner.

I stayed silent for a moment, smiling just as sarcastically as I waited for him to realise his mistake.

"Oh bloody hell, I forgot again. My apologies." He sounded truly sorry. "It is half a baguette with ham, egg, chive and… garlic, I believe." (_Co-Author/beta reader's note: That combo is delicious, ok, don't judge me!)_

"Sounds nice. Enjoy your lunch."

It was silent for a moment before Arthur repeated himself. "I am truly sorry. I should not have said that."

"It's fine. Maybe I should start wearing sunglasses. My blindness tends to go unnoticed without my cane in hand." I answered him with a small chuckle.

Arthur fell silent once more, softly chewing on his baguette.

"I've been wondering about you, you know?" I admitted.  
His reply came quicker than expected. "I thought you had almost forgotten about me."

I grinned in his direction. "Okay, you got me. However, you and I both know the café isn't even near full. There's practically nobody."

"How did you know that?" Arthur asked me curiously.

I just grinned at him, not giving him the answer. "You lied to a blind man, don't you feel guilty?" I was teasing him and he knew it.  
"You can be such a wanker, you know?"  
I couldn't stop myself from sniggering and mimicked Arthur's British accent as I repeated "wanker" out loud. It earned me a sigh from the other side of the table and probably an eye roll.

"Well," I could hear him standing up and shoving his chair back in place, "I guess I should be on my way." His footsteps sounded softly on the stone floor of the café.

"Arthur?" I asked him, making him stop in his tracks. "Would you like to visit sometime? It's kind of lonely, living alone." There came no response. "I could use your company."

"So could I." Then I heard his footsteps fade away. "Don't get lost on the way home." He told me before I heard the door open and close and he was gone.


	4. Chapter 3: Company

**A.N First I just want to tell you all how much it makes me smile to see that my story has another follower/favourite or review. This is my first fan fiction EVER and I'm so glad you guys like it! My chapters may not be very long and some may contain lots of dialogue, but I really try my best and I appreciate all of you who read my story. THANK YOU 3**

**Chapter 3: Company**

**Arthur's POV  
**With a smile plastered on my face I exited the café. Who would have thought I'd bump into him again? Yes, I mean Francis Bonnefoy. So far, he was the only good thing about moving to Paris. Well, that may have been exaggerated, but still. Not much good had happened so far. The whole bloody reason for moving to Paris was nothing but drama and bad news.

Though it wasn't that bad to live in Paris. I mean, I had a well-paid job. That was something, right? I could barely speak a word French and it was the most boring kind of office job you could imagine, but money was money and my apartment had quite a high rent.

I rolled up my sleeve to check the time. Almost 1 'o clock, I had to hurry. I quickly made my way to the business' office, where I had been working for a few weeks now. I usually had to start at nine, but I sometimes went out to get lunch around twelve. While crossing the street some idiotic Frenchman nearly ran over me. _Git!_ I just could not get used to their terrible way of driving. First of all, they had no patience, second of all, they drove on the right side of the street. Enough said, right?

I arrived at the office and entered through the big, glass, front doors. Since I was late I decided to take the elevator. I pushed the button and had to wait a few seconds for the doors to open and let me in. The third floor, that was where I worked. As I left the elevator and entered my department I was greeted with the scolding of my boss.

"You're late, Mr. Kirkland," He complained, "again."

_Fucking hell, I work my arse off for you day in day out, give me a bloody break will you?_ That is what I thought, what I did was apologise for being late before sitting down at my desk. _Let's see what kind of job awaits me today. _I checked my work schedule and with a deep sigh I started working on the computer.

Several hours later I was finally finished and I only had to take a small part of my work home with me. I collected my papers, put them in my briefcase and left the department. I walked down the stairs toward the exit of the building and made my way home.

The streets of Paris were never really silent, I noticed. Cars were still driving absurdly fast and impatient through the street and lots of people were sitting outside at all kinds of cafés and restaurants. The sky had become a dark shade of orange and only a few stars were visible.

It was not long before I arrived at my apartment complex. The last apartment on the fourth floor belonged to me. After I unlocked the door I put down my briefcase, hung up my coat and made myself a pot of earl grey tea. I took two cups and filled them with tea, realising only after I put the pot away that I was alone. _Darn it_. I still needed to get used to living alone.

It had only been a short few weeks since I moved to Paris. No, my reasons for moving here were never about work. To be honest the whole reason was kind of vague.

I used to have a wife back in London. Well, I should say girlfriend, since we were not married yet. We were engaged and we loved each other so very much.

At least, that is what I thought. To be real it was just _me _loving_ her_. _She_ loved men in general, not just me. So after the marriage was cancelled I moved to France for some reason. I told you it was vague.

I ended up drinking both cups of tea since I did not want to waste any of it. I finished the last bits of my work and went to bed, suddenly remembering something a certain Frenchman said. "_Would you like to visit sometime? It's kind of lonely, living alone."_ That question kept crossing my mind that night.

I turned around in my bed several times, pondering my decision. There was something about this man that I was… curious about. Was that the right word? Was I just curious? No, this man just made me smile with all of his silly actions. I even smiled when I thought about it.

The next day after work I stood before Francis' door with trembling fingers. What the bloody fuck was I so nervous about? I rang the doorbell after taking a deep calming breath and a nice looking lady in her mid-30's opened the door.

"Bonjour, you must be Mr. Bonnefoy's guest." She switched to English for me.

"Yes, Arthur is the name, nice to meet you." She shook my hand let me in.

"He's in the dining room, second door on your left." She told me in her poor English accent before returning to whatever she was doing. What a kind lady, she must have been one of those people who voluntarily help people with disabilities. _Disabled_, it sounded like there was something _wrong_ with him. I shook the thought out of my head and hung up my coat before continuing through the hallway to the second door on my left.

I opened it and Francis looked up in my direction.

"Hello, all right?" I greeted him. He smiled and put down his book. Wait, a book? How could he read?

"Arthur! I didn't expect you this soon." He motioned for me to take a seat. "I'm fine, et toi?" I grinned at how he switched back to French now and then. "I'm good." I took the seat opposite from his and sat down.

"Would you like some tea? The water just finished boiling."

I nod, quickly correcting myself by answering verbally. "Yes, please. Earl grey is fine."

He stood up and went to the kitchen. I could see how he had trouble finding the right tea, but he had gotten quite good at it; I know I would not be able to do that without my eyesight.

"What is the book for? Pretending you can read?" I teased him.

"I can read, merci beaucoup." I could see him smile nonetheless. "Unlike you."

"What about me?" I said in a challenging manner.

"I bet you couldn't read even one word from that book." He returned to the table with two cups of tea and sat down, shoving the book towards me after putting both cups down.

I took the book and opened it, realising what he meant: The book was written in braille. "Alright, you win." I said with a defeated grin. Not that he could see me grin, but still. "Git."

He laughed victoriously. "I told you so."

We continued chatting for a while when we both started to get hungry.

Francis suggested to go to the restaurant around the corner, but I declined. Then he suggested making dinner, which surprised me… a lot.

"I thought you quit cooking?" I knew he didn't like the question, but I wondered.

"Well, I could always give _you_ directions on how to cook." _Bad idea, Francis._ Really, if only he knew what a terrible cook I was. "I don't think that's a good idea. I can't cook.."

"Nonsense!" He exclaimed. "Anyone can cook! Get off your lazy butt, we're going to make Tarte Tatin."

"Tarte-what? Wait, hold on! You don't understand, I _really_ cannot cook. I literally ruin everything I—" By now that frog had pulled me out of the chair and into the kitchen, searching for the needed supplies. He surprised me every time again with how well he could fend for himself. After a few minutes the counter was filled with a pan and all sorts of ingredients.

"Bien, start with-" Francis started explaining the whole recipe.

"Woah, slow down, git. I don't even know what we're making!" I complained.

"Tarte Tatin," Francis explained, "it's like a French apple pie." He smiled in my direction, _even though he missed my face by a quite a few inches_.

"Apple pie? That's not _dinner_ Francis." I once again complained.

"Allez, Arthur, live a little." I couldn't help but to smile slightly and eventually agreed to try and make one.

He explained to me how the recipe worked and I did as he told me. I had to cook the sugar until it caramelised and slice six apples in four in the meantime. It all seemed to go well up to that point, and even if I might not admit it out loud, I actually had a pleasant time.

I poured the caramel into the baking form and placed the apples on top just like Francis told me. Then I had to take the dough, which had to go on top of the pie, and roll it out. Well, that was no success.

After huffing, puffing and trying again for the fifth time Francis slowly approached from behind me. I felt his arms around me and his hands searching for mine. For some reason, as he did so, my heart skipped a beat. _Arthur, what the hell is wrong with you? _ Once he found them he showed me that I had to be more gentle. _Bloody hell, he was so close…_ I could feel the stubbles on his chin brushing past my cheek and my face heat up. _No, I was NOT blushing. Damnit._

"Like this, understand?" He asked me with a smile.

"Y-Y.." I tried to speak but I was tongue tied. I made an understanding sound before telling him as serious as possible, "You can let go of me now." He finally released my hands and moved back to his spot behind me to give me directions. "Bloody frog." I muttered.

I could hear him chuckle as I was _gently _rolling out the dough.

"You're still blushing." I dropped the rolling pin and stared at him in awe. _ How did he..!?_

"How would you know?" _I was sounding serious enough, wasn't I?_

"I could just feel your face heat up and now you're all quiet. I'm _blind_, Arthur, not stupid."

I fell silent once again and his by now famous laughter sounded once more through the room.

"You can admit that you're attracted to me, Arthur. Who wouldn't be? After all, aren't I by far the most fabulous man in town?"

"I am most definitely _not_ attracted to an idiotic French git like yourself. I am merely here to keep you company." _I'm too blatant, even for a blind man…_

"Honhon, I was just pulling your leg, relax." I sighed in relief. Not that I _was_ attracted to him, **absolutely not. **So it was not a sigh of relief because of me.. but because of him. Because of course it would have been awkward if _he_ had been attracted to _me._ Because I was not into men, of course. No, no I wasn't.

My train of thought kept continuing for a while as I rolled out the dough and placed it over the caramel and the apples, putting it all in the oven.

Meanwhile Francis and I chatted on for a while. Well, really he was just teasing me and I was denying every little thing. And, of course, we forgot about our pie.

_Hell, my name was Arthur Kirkland and I was blessed with the skill to never burn anything I tried to bake. Nice to meet you._ In case you didn't get it, I was being sarcastic.

The rest of the evening went quietly. I helped Francis clean up the kitchen and in the end we went to that restaurant around the corner anyway.

As I lay in bed that night I couldn't help but to doubt my feelings for him. I was absolutely not _curious _about that man. This was something completely different.

_Life, where are you taking me?_ I couldn't get any shut eye that night.


	5. Chapter 4: My epiphany

**Hello again! So it's been a year since my last update and I am so, so sorry about that! I just got this writers block and then I was busy with school and all, so I kind of forgot about this story. For all of you who followed or faved my story, THANK YOU. For all of you who still bother to read this, I AM SORRY FOR THE WAIT BUT THANK YOU FOR READING THIS!  
I recently started on a new fanfiction, so I will be updating them both every now and then. **

**Lots of love, Charrieblossom**

**Chapter 4: My epiphany**

**Arthur's POV**

To say that I was groggy and tired when my alarm went off at 7 AM was the understatement of the year. To say I felt like a bear awoken halfway during its hibernation would be more accurate. I quickly turned my alarm off and sat up. I was having the most pleasant dream about a certain French man and once I realised that I did, I was mentally beating myself up about it. _Why did I even dream about him..? Get him out of your head, Arthur! You were just being nice to him, keeping him company, that's it.  
_I got up and made my way to the kitchen to make myself a pot of tea. Much to my amazement I only made one cup. After drinking my tea I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my hair. The reflection staring back at me had the worst case of a bad hair day and massive bags under his eyes. _Glad I'm not him, _I joked to myself._  
_It was going to be another boring day filled with lots of work and my colleagues' hatred. They didn't like me because I couldn't speak a word French and instead of speaking English around me, they decided I should just learn French in a few weeks' time. _Bloody gits_._  
_No matter how hard I tried though, I couldn't get myself to focus on my job. I was typing an email to some business guy back in London, but instead of saying _Frank,_ I kept typing _Francis. _I reread the email five times to make sure I didn't make any blunders, I couldn't afford to lose my chance of promotion over some silly crush. _  
A silly crush? Did I really just call Francis a crush? Jeeze, get a hold of yourself Arthur_, I thought to myself. He wasn't a crush, it wasn't like that. Besides, as I stated last night; I am not into men. I just had a bad break up. And I didn't even know the slightest thing about him. Except that he's blind, of course, but that is not really dating-profile material.  
_Hey there, I am Francis Bonnefoy and I'm blind. Want to go out?  
_Yeah, definitely not something for on a dating profile._  
_I convinced myself that I was getting sick from the lack of sleep I'd been getting, which would be a perfectly acceptable explanation for this weird feeling I had in my stomach and the fact that I couldn't focus. Right?_  
_…_  
_Out of frustration I slammed my hands down on the keyboard, causing some random letters and signs to appear in the e-mail I was typing. A few of my colleagues shot their best death glares at me, but I honestly couldn't care less. This twisted feeling in my stomach wouldn't settle. _That French git. I really needed more sleep, I was definitely getting sick._

No matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise however, I somehow ended up in front of Francis' apartment complex. Again. Without giving it a second thought I rung the bell and waited patiently. After a few moments I heard Francis' familiar voice emanating from behind the door.  
"Qui est là?"  
"Francis, it's Arthur." I answered. I did not even try to answer in French. Understanding what was being said was one thing, easy, I could manage that. Answering in French, pronouncing their vague words, that was not my cup of tea.  
Soon enough the door opened and Francis was smiling at me. He was wearing a red sweater, his hair was tied together and he hadn't shaved judging from the stubbly beard he always seemed to have. I wondered if he was even able to shave himself or if he had people do it for him. Perhaps Francis didn't really care whether he was clean-shaven or not. Arthur could imagine it being less important if you couldn't even look in the mirror. Thinking of which, why did the guy even have mirrors in his house?

"Arthur? Are you still there?" Oh bollocks, I had completely spaced out while staring at his face. Gosh, he was handsome. _No, Arthur, stop.  
_"Oh, sorry, yes I am. Can I come in?" I asked, stepping past him as he held the door open for me.  
"Bonjour to you too, mon ami. Are you tired?" He was grinning as he closed the door behind me, then walking to the living room after me.  
"Is it that obvious? I had a long day at work. My colleagues are bloody wankers." He snickered at that and I swore I heard him mumbling something about the word wankers. "Zip it, Francis," I said, trying to sound annoyed but really I was not. "I thought I could visit you before I went home to finish up."

The smile Francis wore when I was talking was one I recognised well. I was smiling like that at _her_ all the time. I was silent when I thought of her. I hated how I still thought of her so often.  
"Arthur?" Francis frowned slightly, looking slightly to the left of my face. "Hello?" His French accent made the "h" inaudible.  
"Sorry, yes?" I shook my head to clear my thoughts as I focussed my attention to Francis.  
"I said merci for visiting. I really appreciate it." As he looked at me with such honest eyes, I did not really know what to say to that. He smiled and snickered when I was around, but this made me wonder how lonely he really was when I was not around.

"I am not visiting because you are lonely, you know." I answered honestly, "I visit you because I am."

Francis stared into space for a moment, finding the right words. Then, he asked carefully; "Arthur, what's your story?"  
"My story?" I repeated him questioningly.

"Everyone has a story. What's yours?" His hands were occupied with his cane, rubbing along the side just to have something to do.

"I was about to marry the most beautiful woman I've ever met, but it turned out she was cheating on me all along." It came out surprisingly easy. "I moved away so I did not have to deal with the mess I left behind." I admitted bitterly.

Francis smiled sympathetically. "I kept wondering what brought you here. I guess now I know." He stood up and went into the kitchen, returning with two cups of tea and placing them both on the coffee table. I thanked him and started sipping my tea. The silence wasn't awkward, rather comfortable.

After a while he asked me a surprising question. "Do you miss her?"

I honestly didn't know if I did. Most of the time I was too busy hating her to miss any of it, but then again, I did have trouble not making breakfast for two anymore, sleeping alone and coming home to an empty house.  
"Sometimes." I said.

"That's okay," Francis said with a sad smile, staring off into the distance, "Sometimes we miss things, even when we know we'll never get it back."


	6. Chapter 5: Change of Perspective

**Chapter 5: Change of perspective**

**Francis' POV**

Being blind isn't as awful as it sounds; I know how to do things for myself, since my home is quite a safe environment. Since the incident I haven't moved anything, so I know where everything is. My house is still as decorated as it used to be. I know I can't enjoy the sight of it anymore, but I like to imagine what it looks like and know it's actually there. I can make myself a cup of coffee or tea with minor interferences. I can warm up food in my voice microwave. Yes, that's a thing. I can still dress myself and take showers without tripping over everything along the way. My computer can scan my emails and read them to me. I'm quite capable, really.

As soon as I leave my front door, though, things get more difficult. I have lived here for years, yet the outside seems unfamiliar. My cane helps me find my way along the many obstacles, although it can't tell me where I am. I haven't been blind for that long, so there were still some things I needed to adjust to.

What I hate most about being blind is how lonely it gets. It's strange, if you think about it, that something as simple as not being able to see someone's face can become a real hurdle. When people talk to me I don't need my vision to know they're pitying me. Their voices give it away in an instant. It's almost as if they're talking to an abandoned puppy instead of a 28 year old.

Imagine going to a restaurant and hearing voices around you, but not knowing who they're coming from. Imagine the deafening clinking of silverware that becomes so much more present when you can't see it. It's like your eyes can't process what's happening, so your other senses take over. Every sound becomes louder, every smell stronger, every touch more lingering.

Imagine what kind of loneliness that creates. It's like being the kid that's shut out in primary school, for being the only one who can't spell yet. Except that that kid will eventually learn how to spell, and go to high school and college and make something of his life. Whereas I will never be able to see again.

Although I can't say there's much to do about it. Yes, I am lonely, but honestly living together with someone would be too difficult. There's no guarantee that every little thing would be put back in its place. I kind of like the fact that my home is my own, everything is where I know it'll be and where it always has been. It makes me comfortable.

And then _he _had to come along. He began as a stranger who led me the way, then he became a friend who kept me company, and now… Well, now I like to think he's becoming more. Arthur has completely changed my vision on everything. I had no idea how much I truly missed having someone to talk to. Sure, the people from the housekeeping came by twice a week to keep the place clean, and we always had a little chitchat, but I could tell they weren't honestly interested.

Arthur was interested in me, not my disability. Arthur would tell me stories about his colleagues at work, not because I wanted to know, but because he wanted to tell me. He didn't pity me, no, he even forgot I was blind every now and then. That wasn't only amusing, but also really nice. It's almost like him forgetting about my blindness, made me forget about it too.

He started coming over every other day. We'd have lunch together before he had to get back to work. We started to get more comfortable with each other, and he was no longer the stranger I met on the street while being lost. He was Arthur, a friend of mine who spoke amusingly little French. Being with him made me act like my old-self again. I became more spontaneous, chatting easily about all kinds of things. I'm not going to lie; I even used some pickup lines here and there. Arthur always insulted me, called me a frog or a "wanker" or some other strange British insult, and I enjoyed every last bit of it. I could hear him getting flustered, which probably looked adorable.

So, here I was with Arthur once again, sitting in the same small cafe where we'd bumped into each other before. It was then that I asked what I had been wondering about for a while now.

"Can I see your face?"

My question was met by silence. He must've looked at me in disbelief.

"Arthur?"

"I'm sorry, you want to, eh, see my face?" Yeah, he was definitely confused.

"Can I?" I asked.

"Sure." His answer sounded more like a question, but I went on anyway. I put my hand outs, slowly bringing them to his face. When he understood where I was going he took my hands and guided them, putting them on his cheeks. I could feel him smile as my fingers traced his features. He wasn't as manly as I had thought. He had soft features, a delicate nose, thin lips, and skin like silk. After I had examined his face with my hands, I slid them into his hair, noticing it was messy and short. When I pulled my hands back he was silent.

"Thank you." I said. As far as my skill in face-recognition went, he was quite handsome. Not manly, but handsome.

He huffed, mumbling a "you're welcome" before sipping his tea.

My hands found my cup of coffee and as I sipped it I began painting a picture of Arthur's face in my mind. God, I'd like to paint him. A feeling of sadness came over me. How could I possibly paint him? I couldn't see, let alone that I knew what colour his eyes and hair were.

"What colour are your eyes?" I asked curiously, trying to push the saddening feeling away by completing the picture I had in my head.

"Green." He answered shortly. Green, I thought, yes that's his colour. It suits him. "And your hair?"

"Blond." He said.

"Like mine?" I questioned. He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, probably growing tired of my questions, while at the same time humouring me.

"No, not like yours. A bit lighter, less bright." I added it to my mental picture. His skin was probably very light, judging from his other characteristics.

"You're really pretty." I told him bluntly. I could hear him chocking on his tea, which made me snicker.

"Excuse me? Firstly, how would you possibly know that? Secondly, it is called _handsome_, thank you very much. A man does not like to be called pretty." Yeah, he was adorable.

I finished my coffee and ignored the question. I got out my wallet but Arthur placed his hand over mine. "I'll pay." He offered.

When we were done Arthur walked me back to my apartment, much to my surprise. It was a Tuesday afternoon, so he probably had to get back to work. Nonetheless he made sure I found my way back. After I turned my keys in the lock and the door opened, I turned back to Arthur.

"Arthur, Puis-je t'embrasser?"

"Francis, English, please."

And with that I found his face with my free hand, gently pulled him closer and kissed him. It wasn't full of passion or like anything you would see in the movies, it was rather unsure. At first he didn't move at all, frozen to my lips. It lasted for a few seconds, then he pulled back and I waited for a reaction.

Silence.

My hand let go of his face and fell to my side. I stared into the ever-dark world before me. So that was it, huh? Then I felt two delicate arms wrap around my neck and a soft pair of lips caught mine. It was a lot sweeter than the first, more lingering. I had no idea _when_ we broke the kiss, but at some point those arms slid away from me and I could hear Arthur saying goodbye.

When I entered my apartment I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, and really I just wanted to storm out and go after him. I wanted to get to know every little thing about him. I wanted him to know everything about me. Most of all I wish I had been able to see his face after I kissed him.

Right… I was still blind. And that wasn't ever going to change. _What was I thinking?_ Arthur wouldn't want to date a blind person. He probably wanted someone more stable. Someone he could rely on. Just because he kissed me didn't mean he wanted to be with me.

Besides, I've had my fair share of fooling around without looking for anything serious. So… Why was I looking for something serious now? I didn't know what it was about Arthur, but I really wanted him, no, _needed him_ all to myself.

Even when I laid in bed that night, I could still feel his arms around me and his lips on mine. Frankly it only made me feel lonelier.


	7. Chapter 6: Getting it straight

**Chapter 6: Getting it straight**

**Arthur's POV**

_Keep calm, Arthur. It was just a kiss. Nothing more. Nothing to be weird about. Except that, maybe, it was with a guy. A blind guy, nonetheless. So really, why should I be freaking out? I am not freaking out. I am calm. Never been more relaxed._

My shoulders were tense and my hands clammy. My mind was on an entirely different planet, causing me to almost get hit by a car while I crossed the road. I cussed at the driver and gave him a nasty look over my shoulder, even though I knew it was my fault and not his. Who was I even kidding? Why was I still trying to convince myself that the way everything was going was normal? A cheating wife made me end up here, and now I found myself falling for a blind Frenchman who I met by pure coincidence on my way to my new apartment.

I absentmindedly arrived at the office and made my way to the third floor, entering my department and sitting down at my desk like always. I was pretty sure my boss scolded me for being late, but I didn't listen nor check the time to see how late exactly I had come in. I started writing up reports and sending emails, doing whatever needed to be done without thinking about it. I was too caught up in my own thoughts to properly focus on my job. At the end of the day I had only finished half the amount of work I usually would have. Nevertheless I left work at 5 pm precisely, not bothering to finish up. I wanted to get home as soon as possible and wash away my thoughts with a hot shower and a cup of tea.

I made a list of pros and cons in my, hoping it would sort out at least a small part of my feelings.

Reasons why it is okay to date Francis:  
Love is love no matter who it concerns.

Reasons why it is **not** okay to date Francis:  
He is a guy.  
Dating a blind person may become difficult.  
I should focus on my job instead of on dating.  
There is only one reason why it **is** okay.

Okay, so those lists definitely did not help. My mind was obviously telling me "no", while my heart kept telling me "yes", and it all made me feel like one of the main characters in a romantic sitcom, which made me want to strangle myself. _Come on Arthur,_ I thought, _stop being such a cliché. Nobody likes clichés._

Once I arrived at my apartment I dropped my bag somewhere in the hallway and went to the small kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I still did not understand how my crappy apartment could be so expensive, but I guess that was just one of the cons to living in the heart of Paris. My apartment was small and simple. It only had the necessary furniture and no decorations really. The kitchen existed out of a small fridge, a microwave-oven, a cheap stove and a counter which had seen its better days already. I didn't really have a dining room, so my dining table had taken up the extra space of the kitchen. My living room was made up of a second-hand leather couch and a coffee table on a rug, since I hadn't even gotten around to buying a TV yet. The walls had been painted nicely though, thanks to the previous owners. My bedroom consisted of a nice bed, one which I had actually spent quite some money on, since I needed my rest, and a second-hand but still good-looking nightstand. I bought a soft rug for besides the bed, which made the room look that much less empty.

I sat down in the living room with my tea and tapped my fingers against the porcelain of the cup. I needed to get things straight. Or well, as straight as it could get with another man.

The next day was Wednesday. It was 5:30 PM and I found myself standing in front of Francis' front door, unable to knock. I went over all the scenarios of what could happen in my head, and I had not even gotten to the worst when the door opened and Francis was revealed. "H-Hello." I greeted. I mentally face-palmed; did I stutter? "Arthur!" He broke out into a bright smile and ushered me inside. God, his smile was beautiful. The door clicked shut behind us and I could smell something amazing coming from the kitchen. "Francis, are you… cooking dinner?" He nodded enthusiastically before he seemed to remember the food and rushed back to his kitchen. I followed suit. Francis reached over the stove, reaching for the pan with some sort of meat and onion in it. He couldn't find the handle, though, and almost burnt himself on the hot metal of the pan. "Watch it!" I yelled. I moved over to him, taking his hand and placing it on the handle. "Merci, Arthur." He said gratefully.

I was astonished by what I saw. He was actually cooking, and it smelled really great. "What are you making?" I asked. I stood behind him worriedly, making sure he didn't burn himself. "A French meat pie," He told me, "I was going to freeze in the left overs for later, but we could share it instead." I felt kind of guilty for coming in at such an inconvenient time, but I did really want to join him for dinner. "You don't mind?" He shook his head, smiling in my direction. "I didn't come here for dinner, actually, but I wouldn't mind joining." Francis closed the lid on the pan for a moment as he opened a random cabinet and took out some things. "Is this pepper and allspice?" He questioned just to be sure. "Yes, it is." I confirmed. He added the needed flavour to the dish and closed the lid again. "This needs to cook for a while, want to sit down?" I hummed in response and we sat down at the kitchen table.

"So, if you didn't come over for dinner, then what brought you here, mon cher?" I had no idea what a _mon cher_ was, but I decided to just ignore it and get to the point. "I eh, I wanted to talk. About yesterday." I clarified. Francis' smile slightly faltered as if he already knew what I was going to say. "What about it?" He played dumb, wanting me to voice my thoughts first. "I am confused." I told him honestly. "About us, about myself. And I know I will not get any sleep until I have got this sorted out." Francis was silent for a moment, biting his lip thoughtfully. "I like you." Francis stated simply. My face went bright red and I was so thankful Francis was blind right now, because it would have been too embarrassing for me if he had seen me right then. "Arthur?" I cleared my throat, thinking of a response. Francis beat me to it, though. "I understand if you don't feel the same. I get it, really. I'm blind, it's weird for you."

"That is not it! Francis, you being blind blind does not bother me." He pulled a face of disbelief. "Okay, maybe I am not completely used to the idea yet, but believe me, that's not what keeps me awake at night." His face changed from disbelief to confusion. "Then what does? Because last night, I'm pretty sure you kissed me back. So what made you change your mind?" He asked me. "I did not change my mind." I said.

Now he was the one who was confused about us. "Arthur, will you please just tell me what you want. I like you, do you like me in that way?" He was being so blunt about it, I did not know what to say. "I-I… I think I do." Now he was smiling again, in the sweetest way ever, mind you. "Then why are we still talking about this?" He raised his hand, searching for my face. I took his hand and placed it on my cheek, to which he started stroking his thumb over my skin. "I have never been with a guy before." I admitted silently. His hand slid down to my chin as he made me look at him. I did not really get why, since he could not see me anyway. "Why does that bother you?" His tone was sincere. "Because…" I was trying to come up with reasons why it actually bothered me. I mean I never put much thought into why. "Eh… I guess I am worried about what others would think of me. At work and my family. You know?"

Francis dropped his hand and instead placed both his hands on my lap. "Arthur, why do you care what other people think of you? I've known you for a while now and even I can tell that you're this amazing and caring person. And who you're dating doesn't change anything. I'm sure your family will see that."

I wanted to reply something, but I could faintly see smoke coming from the kitchen and instead I jumped out of my chair and rushed towards the smoke. "Francis something is burning in the oven!" Francis got up and quickly switched the oven off. I took the oven mittens off the counter and quickly got out whatever was in the oven. "They still look okay." I told Francis. It was the pie part of his meat pie. Francis laughed at the whole situation. When he found my face he placed a kiss on my cheek. "Merci beaucoup." I blushed, wondering whether we were an item now.

"Francis," I started, while helping him finish the meat pie. "What are we now?" He pursed his lips in thought and let his eyes roam through the darkness he saw. "What do you want us to be?" I put some thought into that. How much did we really know about each other? Not much. Then again, getting to know each other is the fun part, right? "together?" It came out more as a question than an answer, but it seemed to satisfy Francis as he finished off the meat pie and then turned to me to find my lips with his own. "Then together it is." And again he pressed our lips together, wrapping his arms around my waist. My hands found his long hair and my stomach was doing flips by now. His tongue slid over my bottom lip and I opened my mouth. Our tongues collided in a passionate kiss, our meal temporarily forgotten.

French kissing a Frenchman.

Yes, I could get used to this.


End file.
